SNAFU: Survival of the Fittest

The slight man, carrying a simple M-21 sniper rifle, also wrapped in white plastic, approached the thin man who had called a halt. He squatted and brought his weapon up in the direction his leader was looking, straight into the thick maelstrom. “King, you see something?”

The team’s leader, King, stayed motionless for another full minute, before he replied. “No, Knight. Sorry. Just getting used to the complete lack of visibility and exterior sound. We don’t know what’s out here, so everyone stay sharp.” Jack Sigler, callsign: King, stood up and headed out, into the howling storm.

Named for pieces on a chess board, each of the other members — designated Chess Team — stood and followed. The team was formerly with the US Army’s 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment — commonly known as Delta. Then, for a time, they had operated as part of a freelance organization, Endgame, stopping threats that politics and time constraints prevented other Delta groups from engaging. Now the Chess Team were fugitives from the US government, but they still fought the good fight across the globe. Each member of the team played a different role, and their callsigns designated those positions.

The burly man in the front of the group, Stan Tremblay, callsign: Rook, was their heavy weapons and ordinance specialist. He had armed the team for this mission with a special weapon that operated like an underwater spear gun, but what it fired were short javelins with radio-controlled explosive rings around the shafts. They could be fired from a distance, arcing into the ground, and then detonated later from a safe distance. In addition to a rifle and a spear gun, he also lugged an M240B machine gun.

Behind Rook in their line-up, as they penetrated the storm, was a woman, callsign: Pawn. Anna Beck had formerly been the team’s security specialist, when they were a part of a larger organization. Now she functioned as a spotter for the team’s one-eyed, Korean-American sniper, Knight. She also held her own in a fight either with her FN SCAR or in hand-to-hand combat.

Shin Dae-jung, callsign: Knight, moved up beside Beck, and kept pace with her. After an injury in Africa had taken his eye, he’d learned several tricks to deal with the loss of depth perception, and he had even briefly used an artificial, computerized implant, but the thing had given him sizzling migraines. While the implant was still there, it was turned off. He was using old-school techniques until the pain-causing kinks were worked out. Pawn was always by his side, to prevent his limited vision from causing him problems. She spotted for him when he was sniping, covered his back during incursions and held his hand in their down time, as his lover and friend.

A few paces behind them, another small figure trudged through the howling snow and ice. At just over 5’6”, Bishop was the second of three women on the six-person team. Asya Machtcenko, a former Russian soldier, and King’s sister, hauled spare drums of ammunition for the M240B Rook carried. The huge weapon was also covered in plastic, although the vents on its barrel assembly were covered with a thinner layer, which could be quickly punctured with a pin, should the shooting need to start. The weapon needed to vent its heat. Bishop and Rook would take turns using it, if there was a need.

“It had to be during a Zud,” she said.

“A what?” Queen, the final member of the team, asked. Zelda Baker was the team’s medic, and also its most deadly hand-to-hand combatant. She stalked through the storm just behind Bishop, carrying yet another FN SCAR rifle, and several more ammunition canisters for the big gun.

Before Bishop could answer, the team’s handler, a man named Lewis Aleman, who communicated remotely with them from a hotel room in Beijing, replied, “She means the winter. It’s a Mongolian term for a particularly bad one. Entire herds of livestock can perish when these Siberian anti-cyclone storms keep temperatures plunging to forty below.” Aleman, callsign: Deep Blue, orchestrated matters from afar, providing whatever satellite intel he could for the team’s missions, although their resources were not what they used to be.

“This gorilla suit is keeping me plenty comfortable,” Rook said.

“Pretty sure she meant the lack of visibility, numbskull,” Queen retorted.

“It’s going to be hard enough to find this terrorist base,” King spoke up, “with them being dug in underground somewhere.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get you better intel, guys,” Deep Blue’s disembodied voice replied. “All we know is the Bright Tomorrow cell is operating out of the area. Military sat coverage didn’t show anything, so they must be concealing heat signatures and working out of a tunnel system or a cave or something.”

“We’ll find them,” King said, determination filling his voice and lending the others hope.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Rook said. “I think my Aunt Mabel’s half-blind dog could find them.”